


Digital Getdown

by DoubleNegative



Series: The Locker Room: Check Please! ficlets [3]
Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Masturbation, Sexting, Sexual Content, Skype, Skype Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-06-10 18:41:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,452
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6969655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoubleNegative/pseuds/DoubleNegative
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jack comes back out ten minutes later, towel around his waist, his phone is blinking with a new notification--one new Snapchat from bitty15. Still holding onto his towel, he opens the app, expecting a ten-second kitchen panorama, or possibly another picture of Chowder, sleeping on the green couch and wearing a clipart flower crown.</p><p>The photo Bitty’s sent is nothing of the sort.</p><p> </p><p>  <em>Jack and Bitty have some fun despite the distance.</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Digital Getdown

Jack is just getting home from morning skate, bruised and a little run down, when the text arrives.

 

**Eric Bittle:**

shitty showed you how to use snapchat right?

 

**Jack Zimmermann:**

The yellow ghost one with the disappearing pictures? Yes. Why?

 

**Eric Bittle:**

good ;-)

 

Jack waits for Bitty to elaborate, but when no explanation seems forthcoming, he shrugs, drops his phone on the dresser, and goes in for his shower. When he comes back out ten minutes later, towel around his waist, his phone is blinking with a new notification--one new Snapchat from bitty15. Still holding onto his towel, he opens the app, expecting a ten-second kitchen panorama, or possibly another picture of Chowder, sleeping on the green couch and wearing a clipart flower crown.

The photo Bitty’s sent is nothing of the sort. It takes a moment for Jack to realize what’s going on, but when he does, his mouth goes dry. Bitty’s shirtless, lying in bed, and the photo’s framed to show him from the chest down, just flushed skin and firm abs and a trail of fine blond hair leading down to his black boxer briefs.

Then the picture disappears and Jack curses. A text comes through a moment later, while he’s still staring at the Snapchat menu screen.

 

**Eric Bittle:**

that’s why :)

 

**Eric Bittle:**

is that okay, btw? i should’ve asked first.

 

Jack stares at the phone for a minute longer, then looks down at the erection that’s tenting the towel around his waist. Before he can think about it too hard, he opens Snapchat back up. He frames the shot carefully to mimic Bitty’s: his stomach, his hips, the low-slung towel. He takes the picture, double-checks that he’s selected Bitty and only Bitty as the recipient, and sends it before he can talk himself out of it. He hesitates a second, then drops the towel and sends another shot.

 

**Jack Zimmermann:**

Yes. It’s okay.

 

His phone chimes with another Snapchat alert. It’s a video this time, ten achingly brief seconds of Bitty’s hand sliding down his stomach and into the waistband of his briefs. Jack thinks he hears Bitty moan softly, and wishes he had thought to turn the volume up before the video disappeared.

 

**Eric Bittle:**

Skype?

 

**Jack Zimmermann:**

yes. switching to laptop

 

Jack drops his phone back onto the dresser and grabs his laptop instead. He settles into bed while Skype starts, and feels another jolt of excitement and arousal when Bitty’s username pops up.

Bitty’s sprawled out on his bed in the Haus with his tablet propped up between his spread knees. He’s still wearing those damn boxer briefs, although they don’t hide much, and the sunlight filtering in through his curtains picks out the gold highlights in his hair and the hazel flecks in his brown eyes.

He’s gorgeous. Jack says as much, partially because it’s true and partially because he loves the way Bitty smiles, shy and surprised and _delighted_ , every time Jack compliments him. “You’re not so bad yourself,” Bitty says, idly rubbing his hand over the front of his boxers. “Especially with that silly towel out of the way.” His abs tighten momentarily as his hips twitch up against his palm. Jack chews on his lower lip, transfixed by the view. “Everybody’s out, by the way,” Bitty adds. “We’ve got the Haus all to ourselves.”

“Nice. Now, want to take off those boxers?”

Bitty grins even as he traces the shape of his own erection through his underwear. “You’re gonna have to ask nicer than that, honey.”

The pet name makes Jack warm all over, as Bitty’s easy affection always does. He runs one hand over his chest and down his stomach, bringing it to rest right above his cock. “Please?”

“Mmm, even nicer than that.” Bitty hooks a thumb in his waistband, dragging it down a little lower, and runs his other hand through his hair. There’s a telltale flush creeping down his neck. “Go on and touch yourself, though. Show me how much you want it.”

“God, so much,” Jack says. He wraps one hand around his cock but forces himself to go slowly, keeping pace with Bitty’s lazy stroking. “I want to see you, _please_.” He wants so many things, honestly, but at least that’s one he can have.

Bitty doesn’t say anything in response, but he shoves his briefs down around his ankles, then kicks them off entirely. Jack sighs, long and low, at the sight of Bitty finally spread out naked before him. His hand speeds up without any conscious thought on his part, and he rubs his thumb over the head of his cock, spreading the bead of wetness that’s already gathered there.

“I want to touch you so bad,” Bitty says, the flush on his chest getting deeper, his breath coming a little shorter.

Jack nods. Every inch of his skin feels hypersensitive, as though all his nerve endings are a little closer to the surface than they should be. A drop of water from his shower-damp hair trickles down his neck and over his collarbone. He shifts and the fading bruise from last week’s game aches dully. If he closes his eyes, he’s sure he can feel humid puff of Bitty’s breath against his neck, no matter that he’s forty miles away.

It’s maddening and disorienting and arousing. He aches to come; but he never wants this feeling to stop.

On the screen, Bitty slips a finger into his mouth, holding Jack’s gaze as he licks and sucks. He pulls the finger out from between his lips slowly, and Jack knows exactly what he’s supposed to be imagining right then. (And he _is_ imagining it, god, he _is_.) Jack fumbles around for his lube and squeezes a generous dollop into his hand, as Bitty spreads his legs wider and traces one spit-slick finger behind his balls--not pressing in, just tracing it in circles, teasing Jack as much as he’s teasing himself. He moans aloud, in a way he doesn’t normally let himself in the Haus, and Jack finds himself echoing the sound.

They’re both getting close, their sentences fracturing and the rhythm of their hands and hips stuttering. Jack tends to squeeze his eyes shut when he comes, but he struggles to keep them open now. If he can’t feel Bitty, if he can’t taste him, then he wants to at least see him.

“God, Jack,” Bitty says, thrusting up into his own fist. “I want to-- _fuck_ , I want--”

But Jack doesn’t get to hear what exactly Bitty wants, because Bitty’s sentences dissolve into a low groan and he comes all over his hand and stomach. He sinks back against his pillows to watch as Jack finishes himself off--and god, what a lovely sight he is when he’s just come. Bitty’s eyes are half-shut and his cheeks are flushed, and three thick stripes of come decorate his stomach. Jack loves to see him like this, loves to _make_ him like this; it’s a privilege he never thought he’d have.

Jack comes gasping a moment later, eyes still fixed on Bitty, while Bitty murmurs encouragements, quiet and filthy and tender all at once.

“God, you’re beautiful,” Jack says, after he gets his breath back. “I think I could look at you like that forever.”

Bitty smiles. “I’m just tryin’ to keep up with you, honey.” His focus flicks to the corner of his screen and he frowns. “Shoot, the boys are gonna be back from class soon, and I promised them soup and sandwiches for lunch. Can I call you tonight after my study group?” He reaches for the box of tissues and starts cleaning himself off, then rummages for his abandoned boxers.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jack says, coming back to reality a little more reluctantly. “I should probably, you know--get dressed. Eat something.” He grins. “I don’t even remember what I was planning to do when I got back.”

“Sorry,” Bitty says, looking a little abashed.

Jack shakes his head. “I’m not. It was a rough practice. I needed this.” He snorts, remembering. “And honestly, Bits, he didn’t come right out and say it, but I think this is 90% of the reason Shitty put Snapchat on my phone and forced me to learn how to use it.”

Bitty snickers. “He’s gonna get drunk and send you a platonic-bro dick pic, mark my words.” He clears his throat and does his best Shitty impersonation. “‘For old time’s sake, brah. I know you miss this fuckin’ magnificent bod.’”

Jack’s still laughing when they sign off a few minutes later, and he doesn’t think it’s entirely the sex that has him feeling lighter and brighter for the rest of the day.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I named this fic after an *NSYNC b-side from 2000. I am not proud, but I AM really bad at titles, and the working titles tend to stick. I thought that song was really naughty when I was thirteen, okay? It made an impression.
> 
> Bitty's throwaway line about platonic dick pics from Shitty also served to inspire [this post](http://onethousandhurrahs.tumblr.com/post/144902861236/summary-shitty-sends-jack-a-platonic-bro-dick-pic), which is--to my great bafflement and even greater delight--the most popular thing I have ever posted on Tumblr.


End file.
